


Change of Pace

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestor-Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately, Karkat did not inherit the genes for excellent speech-making.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Pace

There is a podium smack-dab in the middle of the square, which is a really fucking stupid place to put one as its presence has momentarily melted the thinkpans of everyone in the immediate vicinity and given them the incredibly brilliant idea of _Oh, let's just stop here in the middle of the street and stand around like fucking idiots! It's not like there are other people who actually have work to do!_

So when the numbskull barking from behind the thing throws up his hands and asks of the crowd, "What say you, my like-blooded brethren?" he cups both hands around his mouth because, yeah, he's got something to say. He'd like to say thank you to all of them, for coming out here this evening when they should be working their asses off because yeah, he'd love blood equality but at the present moment, being late will cost all of them their heads. Someone throws up a "Here, here!" and he acknowledges them for having slightly more of a brain than the rest of this flock of woolbeasts.

But the troll on the podium only thanks him for his excellent point and starts going off about the unfairness of the rouge-collar industries, and god, none of them get it, do they? He shoves his way to the front so the asshole can hear him properly when he explains exactly how much bullshit the moron is underestimating. Wages are one thing, but what good is fair pay without reimbursement for on-site wounds or protection from ambushes during work hours? And where are regulations on child labor? He saw a good troll lose a position last week when they found a seven-sweep-old who could change spindles faster than she could, and for half the pay. The shouts and whistles increase in volume as someone helps him onto the platform, where he elbows the speaker out of the way.

It's much easier to yell from the podium, easier to pound his fists on the wood while the crowd roars louder and louder, fists pumping in the air and horns nodding. His throat burns and spittle flies from his mouth, but he can't stop from raising his voice when one small troll calls from the back that they can't hear. So he lets them hear, lets them hear all about the vermin in the factories and the unheated rooms in the cold seasons and the troll who up and died one day, still sitting in the same work chair he'd sat in for eight sweeps. He tells them all that arguing for low-blood rights will do nothing; they have to argue for the rights of all trolls, for the reds and greens and yellows and even those blue-blooded assholes. He talks and argues and screams far into the day, til the crowds wear thin enough for him to finally throw them all the finger and clamber down.

He doesn't go back to work, after that.


End file.
